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The Letter K
Tag Archives: Retirement
J is for Junk Drawer
Marshall says, “Every Man Needs a Junk Drawer.”
My husband, of 52 years, walked into the kitchen and asked, “Have you seen my what-ch-ma- thing?”
I knew exactly what he is talking about because he had on glasses and was holding a plastic tube of wood glue.
“You wanted the who-GA-ma-call-it put back together, and I need it.” He stammered and shook his head; his eyes focused on a ceiling corner in an attempt to retrieve the information.
I relished his sputtering, because earlier in the day our discussion about his health ended with him yelling, “You’re right, you’re always right, but you can’t make me do it.” And me leaving the room to avoid a fist fight.
He followed me with comments about who was right versus wrong, and smashed his toes, which hung over the front of his slippers, into the floor molding; and consequently hipped hopped about, flamingo style, scrunching his face like a shriveled prune and swearing, . . . shit. . . shit. . . shit.
I gave him no sympathy.
After rubbing his toes, he blurted out the real issue, “Why can’t we have a junk drawer?”
Yes, you heard right, we do not have a junk drawer. I am philosophically opposed to the concept and wonder why people accumulate items, they do not want and have no need for; useless items, that fill a complete kitchen drawer.
“We have managed for fifty two years with out a kitchen drawer bursting with rubbish. Why would you want one now!” I yelled back.
“Marshal says every man needs a junk drawer, all the guys have one, I’m the only one who doesn’t.”
“Marshal says? Okay,. . . You want a junk drawer, for things you have no use for but, want to keep just in case. I get it, and what would you put in this drawer?” I asked.
“My who-Ga-ma-call-it, golf balls and golf tees, I don’t know, STUFF!” He answered.
“Don’t you keep golf balls and tees in your golf bag? And the what-ch-ma-thing is in your tool box.”
“You’re right, you’re right, I hate it when you’re right!”
…just saying
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Wikipedia definition (A junk drawer or junkdrawer is a drawer used for storing small, miscellaneous, occasionally useful objects of little to no (or unclear) monetary value, and possibly significant sentimental value. Junk drawers are often located in residential kitchens, but they may exist anywhere with cabinetry or furniture used for storage, including home offices or workshops, and even commercial workplaces and businesses. The phrase “junk drawer” appears to be an Americanism dating to the early 1900s.)
The Alphabet Series H is for Hanky Panky
The Alphabet Series
New Thoughts on Words
H is for hanky panky, two words joined by alliteration, not meaning.
Tommy James and the Shondell’s song, “My baby does the hanky panky”, creates a picture of a couple making out in a 1966 Mustang convertible. There is a mischievous fooling around atmosphere and we know the girl is easy.
But what is hanky panky?
Webster’s (Standard Reference Works Publishing Co. 1956) definition; The meaningless professional talk of a juggler or magician, jugglery or legerdemain.
Sounds like politicians talking about the sequestration.
The term hanky panky is sighted in the first edition of Punch magazine Volume 1 September 1841.
In London, a con-man said to a judge in court; “Only a little hanky-panky, my lud. The people likes it; they loves to be cheated before their faces. One, two, three-presto-begone. I’ll show your ludship as pretty a trick of putting a piece of money in your eye and taking it from your elbow, as you ever beheld.”
A later reference is from George Bernhard Shaw’s Geneva, 1939:
She: No hanky panky. I am respectable; and I mean to keep respectable.
He: I pledge you my word that my intentions are completely honorable.
Hanky panky makes us think things are unethical, and referenced as Hocus Pocus or Hokey Pokey, grew in popularity when sexy and illicit acts were included.
It was playful and school children wiggled to the hokey pokey to practice eye hand coordination skills.
The closest we can get to that ridiculous fun for all is the Harlem Shake.
Google Hanky Panky and you will discover many companies sell lingerie and naughty items, but only one company makes the lace.
Klauber Brothers is a sixth generation family business and creators of an exclusive Signature Lace for Hanky Panky, a leader in intimate apparel.
The Klauber family was lucky to escape the treacherous trickery that forced them to surrender their business and never considered they would be in the hanky panky business. They fled Nazis Germany on the SS Manhattan. It was the last boat to America in 1939.
Their story and craftmanship adds sobering thoughts to hanky panky, but I still hear lyrics in my head and think about a randition of the Harlem Shake, me mouthing the words…My baby does the hanky panky. I saw her walkin’ on down the line You know I saw her for the very first time A pretty little girl standin’ all alone “Hey pretty baby, can I take you home?”
…just saying
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The Alphabet Series F is for Insanity
The Alphabet Series – New Thoughts on Words
F is for Flummoxed Filibuster was originally published on March 10, 2013. Ten years have past and although the post was never about Senator Rand Paul, I believe his latest shenanigans are worth noting. The Senator has referred Dr. Anthony Fauci to the Justice Department for a criminal probe for lying to Congress about COVID. And one of his staffers was stabbed (the young man is okay) by a U.S. citizen who is incompetent. This is insanity!
Flummoxed and Filibuster
March 2013-Things looked good for Senator Rand Paul, a Republican from Kentucky, this week when he announced he would filibuster the confirmation vote of John Brennan as Director of the CIA, the old- fashioned way, by talking and said, “I will speak until I can no longer speak.”
Evidently, the old-fashion filibuster has lost popularity and there is a non-talking version making a filibuster like phone sex. You do not need to moan, and staying on the phone is optional. Rand Paul could declare a filibuster and kept his mouth shut. Then, sixty votes would be necessary to break the gridlock and clear the floor for vote.
Visions of Jimmy Stewart in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” came to mind, and a general impression of Paul as a man of consciousness prevailed.
Rand Paul, the son of Ron Paul, said he did not oppose the confirmation, but this was an opportunity to make a point and find out for sure if the President’s policy on international use of drones includes shooting American citizens on United States soil. Attorney General Eric Holder’s letter did not eliminate the possibility.
Paul said in a statement, “The U.S. Attorney General’s refusal to rule out the possibility of drone strikes on American citizens and on American soil is more than frightening – it is an affront to the Constitutional due process rights of all Americans,”
Not everyone agreed and in the morning, people were flummoxed, you know confused bewildered and baffled when Senators John McCain and Lindsey Graham criticized Rand Paul calling the filibuster “a political stunt that cheapens the serious discussion about US policy to the realm of the ridiculous.”
Paul held his ground, would not admit to shooting himself in the foot, and considered Eric Holder’s letter of clarification released later in the day, a surrender.
You can agree with Paul, the government’s drone policy needs discussion.
Is that all this was about? Because it was a flummoxed filibuster.
. . just saying
P.S. Rumor has it Rand Paul’s head is now pointy.
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A Happy Day
BELAIR FINE ART
I have decided to give up the notion that a happy day is when nothing goes wrong.
My daughter was out of the house by 4 A.M. to catch a flight, but the plane wouldn’t start. This not a joke and there is no punch line. . . not yet, anyhow. After three attempts to jump start the plane, it was decided she would take an Uber to Orlando, and if everything arrives on time be in Newark, New Jersey at 7 P.M. instead of 11A.M.
Then my husband’s doctor’s office called. His request to be on an insulin pump has been denied because his blood glucose is too high, which is the reason the doctor wants him on a pump.
It was only 9A.M., was I going to do be miserable all day? I’d been planning on a down day and thought when are things going to go right? I had a whole day ahead of me.
Why let a few things spoil a sunny deadly hot day?
How about you?
. . . just saying
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The Alphabet Series D is for Disappear
D is For Disappear
D is for disappear as in the New York Times Best Seller novel, “Gone Girl” by Gillian Flynn.
Nick and Amy Dunne, two out of work New York City writers, move to Nick’s childhood home in North Carthage, Missouri when they learn Nick’s mother is fatally ill.
Nick is a journalist.
Amy writes surveys or opinion questionnaires, e.i., Which of the following will lead to personal happiness.
A. Caring more about others than yourself
B. Discovering a passion
C. Exercising and eating well daily
D. All of the above
Nick persuades Amy to invest the last of her Trust Fund in a business for him and his twin sister, Margo. They name the bar, “The Bar”.
Amy disappears on their wedding anniversary, and Nick becomes the prime suspect.
However she didn’t disappear, she’s hiding.
Gillian Flynn has written a plot driven novel that I read quickly and was reviewed favorably, but I could have put the book down easily. The twisted ending was a turn off for me. The movie also has the same distortion of love, or love gone crazy ending. I like happy endings.
“As The Washington Post proclaimed, her work ‘draws you in and keeps you reading with the force of a pure but nasty addiction.’ Gone Girl’s toxic mix of sharp-edged wit with deliciously chilling prose creates a nerve-fraying thriller that confounds you at every turn.”
Amy’s disappearance is not to vanish, perish or cease to exist. Her vanishing act is one of revenge and dysfunction, concocted when she discovers Nick’s infidelity. Victimized and bamboozled Amy plans to get even and does.
I can imagine the survey/questionnaire Gillian Flynn might ask readers to take about her character, Amy.
What makes this character happy?
A. If you can’t have the one you love make sure no one else can either.
B. Make everyone who hurts or disappoints you suffer for the rest of their lives.
C. Inflicting pain on others is key to personal happiness.
D. All of the above
The author, Gillian says “she was not a nice little girl,” and “Libraries are filled with stories on generations of brutal men, trapped in a cycle of aggression. I wanted to write about the violence of women”
“The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.”
Have you read the book or seen the movie?
. . . just saying
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The Alphabet Series C is for Curmudgeon
New Thoughts On Words
C is for Curmudgeon
Cranky, cross, and Cantankerous
Quarrelsome
It’s someone else’s fault
Is being a Curmudgeon a choice, or about loss?
Crappy, critical and uncompromising
Like a Republican who is sore
Callous, cautious, careful
A Curmudgeon ruminates the same thought
Perhaps their hippocampus is shrinking, their dreams forgotten, or tossed
Left alone to commiserate
A connoisseur without a cause
Realizes a critical point
Dick Chaney could be their new boss
A special thanks to my friend Mary for suggesting the word Curmudgeon and to Michael Ray King for encouraging writers to write poetry.
Related articles
- Karl the Curmudgeon Worries About Writers (laughing-stalk.blogspot.com)
- The Wine Curmudgeon’s Guide to Cheap Wine (dmwineline.wordpress.com)
A is for Acerbic -The Alphabet Series
(The conversation below is between two women in a doctor’s waiting room. )
Acerbic
“Unacceptable! My time is of value, too. Why aren’t you complaining?”
“I was told the doctor was running late when I signed in.”
“This is ridiculous. I’ve been waiting more than twenty minutes. My appointment was for nine fifteen. What time was your appointment?”
“Well, I’m not sure; I think nine thirty, why?”
“It’s better if everyone is out of sorts. I can complain for you, make something up, like your dog is in the car, sick and needs to be taken to the Vet.”
“Reading here is as enjoyable as anywhere.”
“Boy, you people are annoying, must you be so perky and pleasant?”
“You’re upset. Why don’t you thumb through a magazine? There’s a travel article about Hawaii in this one. Have you been there?”
“You think looking at pretty pictures of places I can’t afford to travel to will help me… what? Be happy I have to wait for a man, I pay to tell me I’m sick. And looking at colorful advertisements won’t help either. I’m Acerbic. My parents and grandparents, on both sides, were Acerbic and proud of it.”
“Acerbic? Is that … American or … a religion?”
“Acerbic is a way of life. You got a problem with that? Our dispositions are generally crabby. We find fault in others quickly and enjoy being sarcastic.”
“Golly gee, everyone feels crabby from time to time.”
“Golly gee? Golly gee, we’ve been sitting here over a half hour. Can’t you pretend you’re a little annoyed? That wing back chair looks awful uncomfortable. These doctors are all the same; think they’re better than the rest.”
“His nurse said the doctor had an emergency, it sounded serious. Are you really Acerbic?”
“Our whole neighborhood is Acerbic. We don’t like friendly. People yell, ‘Don’t park in front of my house, jerk’ and threaten, ‘If your dog pees on my grass, I will call the police!’ Although things are changing. Someone, I can’t find out who, moved my garbage pail out of the street on a windy day.”
“You don’t mind if I read my book?’
“Of course I mind. I get it. Why not say shut-up? Add please if you have to. It’s easy; watch my lips, ‘Will you please shut-up!’ ”
“No, tell me about your life.”
“Actually I had a great childhood. We owned a small cabin not far from Route 95 below the Georgia border. Dad named it Acerbia. It was a retreat where we could be sour and discontent on weekends and during vacations. You know, say nasty things about neighbors and relatives.”
“Was that fun?”
“Are you kidding, of course, the best. By the way, they call me Unfortunately. I’m Unfortunately Fortunato. What’s your name? Not that I care.”
“Unfortunately is a first name? And Fortunato your family…?”
“Mom wanted an Acerbic name, nothing cheerful or common like Hope, Joy or Grace.”
“That had to be a difficult name for a child. Did she think it was a mistake?”
“No, Difficult and Mistake are my brothers. Mother named them good, too, because Difficult is in prison and Mistake, chronically unemployed.”
“Was that a surprise?”
“They still haven’t called anyone. All they do is talk on the phone. Someone else has to complain. You can do it. I like your pink eyebrows.”
“My eyebrows are pink?”
“Yea, they match your lipstick, compliment that bluish tint in your hair, and look cool on a woman your age.”
“My hair isn’t blue! I’m not that old.”
“Isn’t that book you’re reading in large print?”
“It’s easier I don’t have to remember my glasses.”
“Most seniors get a little forgetful. It’s normal, not a problem unless you can’t remember what glasses are. You know glasses magnify things, right?”
“I know what glasses are for and I didn’t forget them. I do not need them to read a large print book.”
“Did you hear that? The receptionist called Ms. Fortunato. That’s me, Unfortunately. Doc’s ready for me. Have a rotten, day”
“You too, and my eyebrows aren’t pink!”
. . . just saying
The Alphabet Series is an approach bloggers use to infuse new life or creativity into their writing. “Acerbic” is the first post in my series “New Thoughts For Words”. “Acerbic” draws on personal experience and is published in FWA, Let’s Talk by Peppertree Press.The challenge for that Anthology was to use a dialogue format to present your short story.
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What are you reading?
Jackie and Maria
Recently, my husband and I flew on Allegiant Airline from Florida to Albany, New York. The plane was on time, a direct flight, and the staff accommodating and friendly.
However, I hope I never have to fly this airline again.
Why? There are caveats, aka; Allegiant’s nickel and dime approach to flying.
Ordering the tickets on-line was a nightmare. I’d purchased two round-trip tickets, I thought. The total cost was $659.50, and included two seats, (neither one of us wanted to stand on the trip), the fee to carry-on our bags and the cancellation option. The constant pop-ups through-out the process made me dizzy. I even signed up for their credit card, because I thought I had to.
Twenty-four hours before, I checked myself-in. But couldn’t check-in my husband.
Come to find out, after hanging on hold for one plus hours, and listening to a constant reminder to resolve your flight concerns on-line, I spoke to a human. They convinced me I’d purchased only one ticket. I argued. . . that can’t be. . . I paid for two seats.
So, I bought an additional ticket, last minute, paid again for the seat next to me, that I’d already paid for, and checked luggage for a cost of $ 461.50.
When everything was said and done, the cost for two round trip tickets was $1,121.00!
I was in tears and my husband standing behind me said, “Pay them whatever they want, you can’t go alone.” I felt like a hostage and he was paying ransom.
ONE THOUSAND AND ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS, to fly from Florida to New York, on Allegiant, the cheap airline.
Now do the math. The flight was full, 180 seats. If every passenger paid $461.50, the airline took in $90,000. If they paid $659.50, the take would be $118.710.
So, Allegiant collected between 90 and 119 thousand dollars for a two hour and fifteen-minute direct flight.
But. . . money was made elsewhere. Snacks and beverages; and you pay for water. The only thing free was use of the toilet. Rumor has it toilet paper will be an add on soon.
Last, but not least, (don’t get you panties in a twist) you must have the Allegiant app on your phone, or print your boarding pass at home, otherwise it will cost you $5 to have it printed at the airport.
Whew! Talk about stress. I thought I would lose my mind.
BUT! We landed early!
* * *
The sun was out the first day of our vacation and the next, for our family gathering. It was wonderful.
However, it rained everyday thereafter.
Fortunately, my sister, Mel, gave me a book. Jackie and Maria, by Gill Paul (historical-fiction) and I couldn’t put it down.
I often quote Jackie Kennedy Onassis’s response to the interview question, “Mrs. Kennedy, what is your greatest accomplishment? Jackie said, “I didn’t lose my mind.” I guess she never flew Allegiant.
After reading Jackie and Maria, it was a miracle she didn’t. Evidently though, she was a compulsive shopper. I totally enjoyed this read.
You’ll find more reviews on goodreads.
. . . just saying
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It’s Fathers Day
Sweet Memories
The pedaling of an old man riding a wide-tire bicycle grabs my attention as I drive Acoma road. The methodical around and around of the bike’s wheels is mesmerizing. I press the car brakes, slow to a crawl and drop back, to give the senior space, as we approach the corner stop.
He wears red Keds, and a large droopy straw hat shades his face from the morning sun. He sports a long sleeve plaid shirt and hazardous baggy Dockers. The blue and chrome fender bike has no basket or hand brakes.
Behind him rides a man in a metallic Speedo shirt, and black skin-tight shorts. He wears a helmet and mustache, and he does not pass abruptly. Instead, he moves to coast gently beside the elder, a solid traffic barrier. They ease the corner, two abreast, like dancing a Minuet synchronized to Chopin.
I stop at the corner. . . rather than go straight. I turn right. . . and follow them, absorbing their relationship.
They are a pair. Paternal. Their head, back, and shoulders are a younger/older version, of the other. The son deliberately peddles ahead, never looks back, but hoovers; and allows his father to ride independently. The old man’s bike wheels don’t wobble. The handlebars do not shake. There is an air of pride accompanying his movement.
As they resume their single file adventure, I drive by, see his wrinkled face, and guess the elder is eighty. I catch a glimpse of the son’s full head of peppered gray hair, and face with minimal expression lines, when passing, and guess . . . he’s nearing sixty.
My mind conjures a past Father’s Day,
I imagine it is 1958, the father wears the same plaid shirt, Dockers and Keds. The son, is dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. The father, leads the way with subtle protectiveness and allows the son to celebrate his newly acquired skill, riding a bike.
“Daddy, look at me!” He yells with a big smile.
Today is Father’s Day 2012. I watch the pair celebrate with the simple act of being together. Pedaling their bicycles, and needing each other in a different way.
. . . just saying
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*Post was originally published in 2012, over ten years ago.
claudiajustsaying 